Chapter Text
The butterfly effect.
It’s a well-known concept in chaos theory, the study of random and unpredictable behavior, stating that there are limitations to predictions, regardless of how small and controlled a system may be. Chaos occurs because systems, like our lives, are sensitive to the decisions we make in the present, each individual choice cascading to its own separate conclusion.
As absurd as it may sound, this means that a butterfly flapping its wings in New Mexico can cause a hurricane in China… The connection exists, event to event, one could map it out through time if one had enough patience.
If that butterfly had not flapped its wings at that exact moment in space and time, then the hurricane never would have happened.
Izuku never really paid mind to such a ridiculous concept, vaguely acknowledging it before leaving it rot in the back of his mind, but now his mind was running circles around that rotting pile of a concept.
What butterfly had brought him here? Maybe he could go back in time and bargain with the insect, begging its wings to suspend their rhythm for a fraction of a second in hopes that he wouldn’t be condemned to this future.
Or perhaps the butterfly, in its omnipotent wisdom, specifically chose him one day, maybe by random, like an unlucky lottery ticket, or maybe by some personal vendetta that was passed through its lineage unbeknownst to Izuku, and with a deadly determination, it fluttered steadily against the wind, second, just so Izuku could reach this conclusion, standing in his dilapidated apartment, staring certain death in the face.
Regardless, out of all this speculation, he knew two things to be true; first, what was about to happen would be chaos incarnate, and second, he would never be the same again.
Izuku squeezed his fists, nails digging into the skin of his sweaty palms, eyes still locked onto the man who sat cross-legged in his swivel chair. The movement of two other men in either corner of the apartment didn’t go unnoticed; every shift, every shuffle, every breath that felt louder than normal sent adrenaline coursing through Izuku’s veins as he fought to remain calm.
The older man carefully unfolded his long legs before leaning forward in the chair, hands clasped in front of him, “How rude of me, I haven’t introduced myself…” he let the pause hang in the air like a guillotine while that unnerving smile stayed plastered across his face as if it was saying, ‘ I just sharpened the blade. I can’t wait to hear it whistle as it comes crashing down on you.’
Izuku suppressed the urge to flinch away at the man’s next words, “My name is Assistant Director Kuragari, from the Hero Commission…” the rest of the sentence was lost to a rising thrum in his ears as he felt his sense plunge under thousands of leagues of sea. He watched the men in suits knock over his belongings through leagues of water that blurred and tilted his vision, watched their mouths move, but no sound could possibly travel so far underwater.
His knees began to buckle against his will, the watery horizon of the floor coming up to meet him much faster than he would have liked. His brain no longer registered the rapid-fire beating of his heart, he wasn’t sure that it was still beating, maybe all the pressure from so much water had crushed it. He sagged against the wall, clawing at the peeling plaster to maintain his upright position as the waves began to slowly recede from his mind.
The sound of someone laughing slowly filtered through his mind as he took steady breaths in and out, a fleeting image of Eraserhead counting out the breaths in a darkened alley passed quickly through his mind. He didn’t dare push off the wall he was still leaning on, not trusting his knees to not buckle again, as he locked eyes once more with Assistant Director Kuragari, the man who dared to sit in his swivel chair.
The older man had a vicious grin on his face, clearly enjoying the terror he was inducing. Kuragari straightened his posture, adjusting his suit’s jacket to reveal a handgun resting in a beautifully decorated holstered on his hip. The weapon seemed to match his attire, grey and cold, but ornate and professional.
Izuku couldn’t help the shaky smile that crossed his face at the absurdity of the whole situation despite Kuragari’s obvious threat to his life.
In the corner of the room, one of the guards began sloshing a pungent liquid out of a red container, the fluid seeping down the walls of the apartment, leaving behind a sharp smell that could peel paint. They’re going to burn everything , Izuku idly registered and he wondered if he was meant to be part of the kindling.
“There’s nothing I hate more than wasted potential,” Kuragari sighed, drawing Izku’s attention back as he pulled a cigarette and matchbox from the inner pocket of his suit. The rolled tobacco looked expensive, and he placed it gently between his lips, its yellow filter contrasting with his too-white teeth as he continued to speak, “So, I’d like to offer you a deal… You can either come with me,” the cigarette danced between his lips as bony fingers selected a match indifferently, striking it against the box in one violent, but controlled motion, “or you can stay here.”
Kuragari flicked the match away with finality as he finished speaking, leaning back in the chair and puffing expensive smoke as fire roared to life in seconds eating away greedily at the gasoline. The light of the flames cast long shadows against the older man’s face. He leaned against the wall, and blew a long puff of smoke in Izuku’s face, clearly waiting for an answer.
“I-I’ll go with you,” Izuku replied quickly, suppressing a cough as smoke began snaking down his throat. Escaping right now would be impossible, but if he could just buy himself a little time, then maybe he could make a run for it… run to where though? He hadn’t figured that part out yet.
Kuragari smiled, “A wise choice. Oh, and one more thing,” Izuku flinched violently as the Assistant Director reached into his jacket, fully expecting the man to pull out the gun, but instead, his hand emerged with a pair of quirk-repressing cuffs dangling from his grip, a cruel smile tugging at his lips again from Izuku’s reaction, “You’ll have to put these on, of course.”
The fire continued to spread, eating through Izuku’s home - through his life. Its crackling noises were almost reminiscent of a million tiny bones being crushed underfoot. Either the cuffs were another cruel joke, or the Hero Commission didn’t know as much about him as they were letting on. Maybe he could use this to his advantage. The cuffs glinted in the orange light as the Assistant Director swung them back and forth impatiently. The flames started licking their way up the wall behind Izuku, heat biting at his heels, forcing him to run from one situation to the next.
Somehow, the space Kuragari occupied remained untouched by the flames, as if the fire itself was too intimidated to invade his icy presence.
After a tense moment, Izuku slowly held his hands out in front of him, waiting for the cuffs to be locked in place, but the director made a disapproving noise and motioned for Izuku to turn around. Izuku obeyed stiffly, senses on high alert as he heard the older man approach from behind. The metal was cool against his overheating skin and Izuku wondered if he stood any chance of trying to make a break for it.
It seemed that he only had two choices now; he could try to run at the first opportunity and pray that he was fast enough and wouldn’t need his hands to climb over any obstacles, or he could be taken to a secondary location, and nobody survives the secondary location.
After thoroughly drenching everything in fuel, the bodyguards came over to escort Izuku from the building.
Kuragari headed down the stairs first, leaving one man to lead Izuku and another to follow behind him. As the group neared the exit, a car engine could be heard right outside, already prepared to take Izuku to a future he didn’t want to think about. If he was going to bolt, it would have to be as soon as they exit the stairwell. There would be no other chances.
The door seemed to open in slow motion, rusted hinges screaming under the weight of the wood, white light from the sun tearing through the crack in blinding streaks as smoke curled across the ceiling from the rooms above. Izuku pulled every ounce of his energy together and tore away from the man who had been holding him, barreling past the director and his second bodyguard in a mad and frenzied rush.
Behind him, he could hear cursing and heavy footfalls. He darted around the closest corner which stretched into a narrow alley before re-opening a block later. He made a sharp left, hoping the thin passage ways would be difficult for the larger men to squeeze through, and prepared for another sharp turn up ahead on the right. He was making it through the second narrow alley with ease and felt a glimmer of hope, the footsteps growing fainter as his pursuers fell further and further behind.
The warmth of the sun embraced him once more as he broke out of the alley, its bright light illuminating the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He threw a final glance behind him, trying to ignore the winding pillar of black smoke polluting the sky and the grief that came with it. Everything he owned, everything he had worked so hard to build, it was all gone. His computers, his small stash of emergency money, and even his swivel chair.
He blinked the tears out of his eyes, he could rebuild in another country, somewhere far away. He could pick himself back up, reassemble all of the pieces like he always did. He would fix it. It would be ok. With effort, Izuku forced his eyes away from the smoking sky and towards the glare of a setting sun, but his brain was overloaded with too many emotions and sounds and lights, that he missed the additional flash and bang until it was too late.
Something hit Izuku in the shoulder, causing him to stagger back a step. He looked for the source of the flash, eyes landing on a tall man’s silhouette, identity hidden by heavy shadows cast from the setting sun, but Izuku didn’t need to see his face to know that it was Kuragari, his tall thin frame overly-relaxed, not the least bit concerned about losing his control over the situation despite Izuku’s best efforts. The Assistant Director’s hand was raised, a gun held straight to Izuku.
A delayed realization filtered through the memories of his mother that came racing to the front of his mind at the sight of the gun, phantom echoes of rain mixing with her blood rung in his ears. Nauseous and unsteady, he looked at his shoulder. There was a small red vial protruding there, its contents now emptied into his shivering body.
He couldn’t decide if this was better or worse than a real bullet, and when he glanced back up, the horizon was shifting violently and the colors of the setting sun were blurring together. The earth was moving and colors had ceased to exist individually. No, that couldn’t be right, he foggily corrected himself, he was moving… falling to be more specific.
Suddenly the sunlight was gone, blocked out by the shadow of Kuragari who stood above him. Either the man’s face was twisting into an unnatural smile or it was another illusion from whatever drug was currently dismantling Izuku’s mind.
His pulse slowed, and he could feel himself sinking through the ground, darkness shrouding the corners of his vision as consciousness receded. He could have sworn he saw a butterfly drift by, oblivious or uncaring for the situation at hand, as his mind finally plunged into total darkness.
~~~~
Aizawa stood on the sidewalk, peering up at the skeletal structure of the building in front of him.
The rising sun cast shadows around its bones, sending stripes of light across the hero’s face. A particularly bad fire had spread through this part of the district sometime early in the morning, consuming several multi-story structures, some of which were residential complexes. Fortunately, since this was a red-light district, the majority of the units were already vacant.
Ghost town , Aizawa thought as a stray plastic bag drifted past his boots in the wind, tumbling down the street until it caught onto some other debris, edges flapping wildly like a flailing animal that’s been trapped.
The breeze caught a small pile of ash near Aizawa’s feet, sending a little flurry scattering across the scuffed tops of his combat boots. The structure in front of him creaked, but it didn’t stop the clean-up crew and police officers from walking around the lower stories.
Aizawa’s eyes stayed trained on the precarious building as a pair of footsteps approached him from behind. Detective Tsukauchi appeared a moment later with two steaming cups of coffee from the cheap corner store a few blocks away and he mentally blessed his friend for always having his back when it came to caffeine.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” the detective spoke in an all too tired voice, “you know I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important. Follow me,” he said, gesturing as he began to walk away.
The two men approached the entrance of the building, Tsukauchi leading the way. Aizawa hesitated at the frame of where the door would have been if it hadn’t been for the unforgiving fire, foot hovering above the ashen ground for half a second. He observed the charring marks that climbed the iron frames and the bits of plastered wall that survived and clung to the bones of the building desperately.
It half resembled a carcass now. Nothing but a burnt carcass of metal and stone.
His foot landed in the pile of ash on the other side of the frame and he continued up the precarious staircase, avoiding weak spots on the floor as Tsukauchi pointed them out. Slowly, they made their way up to the third floor of the building, the wind growing considerably stronger from the lack of barriers that the shorter, neighboring buildings had provided. The damage on this floor was considerably worse than the previous two, Aizawa noted as the detective led him to a specific room. The plastered walls were completely gone and the metal framing above their heads sagged occasionally from exposure to such intense heat.
“Our firemen identified this room…” Detective Tsukauchi paused, gesturing his coffee cup towards a particularly deformed rectangle of metal which must have been the apartment’s entrance at one point, “...as the point of origin. Judging by the heat intensity and damage sustained to the metal framing, an accelerant was definitely used. We’re currently unsure of how exactly the fire was started… it could have been a quirk or a good old-fashioned lighter.”
Aizawa turned to look at the detective, slight confusion screwing his face as he squeezed his coffee cup, “I’m still struggling to understand why you called me for this. You’re making this incident sound intentional, but we’re in the red-light district… For all we know, it could have been some partying kids that got too rowdy.”
Tsukauchi nodded in agreement, patiently waiting for Aizawa to finish his grumpy rant. He just wished the man would drink his coffee already. Tsukauchi made a point to always bring the Underground Hero some form of caffeine because he found out early on that it drastically improved his mood and made him much easier to work with. He raised his own cup up to his lips, hoping the Hero would subconsciously do the same. He did not.
“I called you because of what the firemen found in this room. Since it's the point of origin for the fire, nothing here will be of much use, but,” the detective walked over to a particularly large pile of melted and deformed metal, glass, and ash. He nudged a few pieces around with the tip of his shoe, “this pile is comprised of precious metals, a lot of them actually. While most of it has been melted, we were able to identify aluminum, platinum, palladium, cop-” Oh, Aizawa was giving him a deadly ‘get-to-the-point’ glare, “Uh, basically, we know this room housed a large amount of computer hardware.”
“Additionally, we found this box under the floor,” Tsukauchi said as he reached into his jacket to pull out an evidence bag, gesturing for the Underground Hero to take it, “I’m not sure what it's made of, but it sustained no damage from the fire so it has to be something high quality.”
Aizawa inspected the metal through the plastic casing before the Detective interrupted, “You can take it out… our CSI’s said the fire on this floor would have destroyed any useful information for the lab. The underground hero nodded, taking the box out carefully, ash coating his hand in the process.
He bent over to set his coffee on the ground so he could better inspect the item. After the ash was brushed away, an engraving could be seen on the smooth surface. Aizawa glided his thumb across the Kanji again in disbelief. His voice was quiet as the wind carried it away with the ash, “Deku…”
The detective softly stepped beside him, careful not to tip over the coffee on the ground. The air had grown tense, whether from the box in between the two men or the rain clouds that were steadily rolling in overhead.
“I haven’t opened it yet,” Tsukauchi said with an air of curiosity, “The officers at the scene called me as soon as they found it and then I called you.” They stood together in silence for a moment, just observing the box and comprehending the implications. This box, this apartment room they were standing in, and all this melted technology at their feet, all logic supported the theory that is had belonged to Deku.
If that were true, and it very likely was, then where was Deku now?
“Would uh-” Aizawa’s mouth struggled to form around te question he wanted to ask, “Would bones survive-”
“No…” the Detective replied, slightly uncertain, “Well, we’re not sure. It depends on if the fire was quirk-related.”
The Underground Hero nodded in understanding. A rumble of thunder resounded above them and Tsukauchi cleared his throat, “Well, shall we?” A simple nod from Aizawa as he readjusted his fingers to open the container.
The contents were slightly disappointing at first glance, only a few objects tucked away inside, spared from the fire by whatever material the container was made of. Aizawa cleared ash away from a spot on the floor and knelt down, carefully emptying the box's contents, sorting them across the floor so the Detective could see too.
There was a wad of about 13,000 ¥ in cash, bundled together with a stretched-out hair tie, various unlabeled USB drives, and a few numbers scribbled onto scrap pieces of paper. However, none of the strings of letters and numbers were labeled, making it nearly impossible to decipher what they were for. If Aizawa had to take a lucky guess, he would say they were passwords… No smart hacker kept password information on their actual devices. Better to go old school with a pen and paper on that one.
Additionally, there was a carefully folded piece of paper with a red ribbon tied neatly around it. Aizawa glanced at the detective before undoing the knot and opening the paper. As he did so, a picture fell from the folds and fluttered to the floor. The image landed face up, a green-haired child smiling next to a woman who must have been his mother, their cheery faces, frozen in time, peering up at the detective and hero.
The duo in the photograph appeared to be standing in front of a life-size, cardboard cut-out of All Might with a movie theater promo for a documentary of the Number One Hero barely visible in the background. If the fact that they were at the movie theater wasn’t obvious by the background, then it was made very apparent by the ticket the boy was showing the camera. Aizawa’s eyes were caught on the boys. It was no doubt the same boy from the shipping container, although his eyes were shining and happy in this photo, nothing like the dull acceptance he was familiar with.
More importantly, though, this was the same boy that broke into his apartment.
This was Izuku Midoriya.
A strong gust of wind attempted to blow the photograph away, but the detective’s hand shot out to hold it in place. However, that didn’t stop the ash from taking flight. It smudged over the bright smiles in the photograph, leaving dark streaks in its wake, and what didn’t land on the photo, landed in Aizawa’s coffee, swirling in the hazel-colored drink. There was another low rumble of thunder as the last of the firemen and officers began making their way back down to the first level of the building in anticipation of the rain.
“What does the paper say?” Tsukauchi asked softly, a hint of urgency in his tone as a few fat droplets of rain began to fall around them, mixing with the grime on the floor to make a blackish mud. Aizawa gently unfolded it, not bothering to read aloud, but instead tilted the paper towards his friend.
Dear Izuku,
Happy 9th Birthday Izu! You’re growing up to be such a strong little man. I know that you’ll make an amazing hero one day, just like All Might. I’m so proud of you!
Love,
Mommy xoxo
There’s always something unsettling about looking at a picture of someone who is no longer alive. A certain feeling settles in your chest when you see the smile lines in their face, the light in their eyes, there’s a kind of curiosity at the life they lived, and a wrongness that comes with the fact that they’re no longer filling the space they made for themselves in the world. Instinctively, Aizawa knew the woman in the photo was gone.
Who would hang on to their mother’s quickly scribbled birthday letter, keeping it safe and hidden in a special box under their floorboards, and what mother would leave their child alone like this, fending for themselves in a condemned apartment deep in the redlight district?
Respectfully, he folded the paper back to how it was, dusting the photograph off and placing it in the folds before he tied the ribbon back around the little packet. The rain was coming down more consistently as Tsukauchi stood and rested a hand on the hero’s shoulder, his voice curious and concerned, “What are you thinking?”
Aizawa’s perception of Deku was shifting within his mind as his hope of ever finding the elusive hacker dwindled to nothing. He rubbed a hand down his face, joints popping as he rose, “I don’t know… Could this have been a rival’s doing?” he gestured to the burnt remains of the building around them, “Maybe some villains he got mixed up with?”
“It’s possible,” the detective nodded, “He could have also skipped town, covered up his tracks in the process.”
The underground hero simply nodded, trying to accept the explanation out of desperation because the only other scenario that could explain such a planned disappearance was far worse than a loose informant or dead kid, “We’ll put officers around the train stations and airports right away then,” he said as he pulled out his phone, “If he tries to leave the city or country, that’s when we’ll get him.”
“I’ll get some men to search the river bank nearby too,” Aizawa looked towards his friend, the detective’s face was solemn, “Just in case.”
~~~
The first thing Izuku noticed was the silence.
It was not the peaceful quiet he was used to, but rather, it was a great and crushing thing, forcing wakefulness into his mind. His eyes were greeted by darkness as they fluttered open. He reached a hand out in front of him, hoping to penetrate the void, but his wrists were stopped by an itchy binding.
“Bruce?” he called out weakly, voice raking against his dry throat, not certain of where he was or how he got here.
Izuku heard a door open somewhere to the right, followed by several pairs of footsteps. Before he could decide whether or not it would be best to feign unconsciousness for a bit longer, the blindfold covering his eyes was ripped away. He blinked furiously against the sudden change in light, trying to absorb as many details about his surroundings as quickly as he could while the memories of how he got here knit themselves back together.
After an eternity, his emotions caught up with the situation, icy panic creeping into his veins as he pulled at rope restraints that held him to a chair in the middle of a large and open room. Three men stood in front of him, the two bodyguards from before, and an elderly-looking woman who wore a severe expression that clashed with the soft yellow of her sundress and cardigan.
She held a clipboard in her hands, and despite her clear hostility towards Izuku, her presence seemed to calm him slightly. Maybe it was the way she wore her gray hair, tied back in a bun similar to the way his mother used to style hers. Her voice was unexpectedly clinical and void of emotion when she spoke, “Izuku Midoriya, age 17,” she looked over the teal-colored rim of her reading glasses expectantly.
After a moment, Izuku realized that she was impatiently waiting for him to confirm this information. Still not fully in control of his motor skills, he nodded sloppily, not daring to push words through his scratchy and dry throat. He wondered how long he’d been out for.
The woman made a mark on the paper before continuing, “Your mother, Inko Midoriya, is deceased and your father, identity unknown, is missing. Correct?”
He looked at the ground after hearing his mother’s name, but nodded nonetheless. What would she think of all this? What would she think of him now? She would probably be horrified by the things he’s had to do just to get by… and the things he did just because he could.
“Good,” the woman said quietly to herself, as if he had passed some kind of quiz, “That’s all I need for now, Assistant Director.”
Izuku froze as a bodyguard stepped forward to spin his chair around. Kuragari sat behind a large wooden desk, it’s finish so smooth and clean that it reflected the lines of the tile flooring. The wall behind the desk was lined with ceiling-to-floor windows, showcasing a beautiful skyline of the city, the sun just beginning to peak over the rooftops of the shorter buildings. He couldn’t help but desperately scan the view, looking for a thin trail of smoke, but he found nothing.
“Well,” Kuragari smiled proudly, it seemed almost genuine, as he waved his arm across the open expanse of the office, “What do you think?”
He looked back to the older man, not comprehending what was being said to him, “Of what?” The door off to the side opened again as the woman left, he wished she would have stayed.
The Assistant Director’s smile fell a bit as something in his expression twitched, “My gracious job offer.”
“Job offer?” Izuku echoed, his voice sounding hollow and distant to his own ears as his head nodding listlessly back and forth in confusion, thoughts still somewhat delayed from the drug, “What job offer?” he asked, fidgeting against the restraints while he desperately tried to gather a semblance of focus.
Kuragari stood suddenly from the leather chair he had been sitting in, walking briskly to the front of his desk, his lips in a thin frown. He leaned back against the polished wood and lit a cigarette, “You owe me,” he said between puffs of smoke, “Do you know that?”
Izuku’s brows screwed in confusion and worry, “I-”
“Your life,” the Assistant Director cut him off loudly, his demeanor changed from relaxed to offensive in a second, as if a switch had been flipped. He took a breath, collecting himself before starting again, calmer this time, “See, the Hero Commission would have you dead, but I have some little things I think you could be of use for,” he explained slowly, like he was talking to a child, “So now, you work for me, or to be more clear, I own you.”
Izuku shook his head throughout the older man’s monologue, understanding and awareness settling back in, “No, no… Yo- You tried to kill me?! You didn’t save m-”
In an instant, the chair tilted abruptly to the side as Kuragari threw a controlled punch. Izuku would have toppled over completely had one of the guards not caught him in time, massive hands planted firmly on his shoulders. He could feel something warm leaking from his nostril and a stinging on his lower lip that caused it to tremble against his will.
“I OWN YOU!” Kuragari yelled with wild eyes that contained nothing but rage and bloodlust. The older man ran a shaky hand through his hair, his knuckles bleeding lightly. He took a deep draw from his cigarette, the orange tip pulsing to life in tempo with Izuku’s throbbing lip, “Innocence and arrogance entwined,” he said quietly, leveling Izuku with a suddenly empty stare, “That’s all you are. I give you purpose now, do you understand?”
Against his better judgment, Izuku shook his head again, partially in disbelief, partially in denial… because no, he didn’t understand this in the slightest. He didn’t understand how his harmless attempts to help people from behind a computer screen could have snowballed into something so absurd and violent as this.
And arrogant? He was careful, maybe a little cocky at times, sure, but he was never arrogant… If Kuragari wanted arrogance, he could give him real arrogance. He gathered all the spine he had left, smiling viciously, as he thought about how this could be one hell of a way to die, “I don’t work for bad guys,” each word was loud and clear. He ended his declaration of war by spitting at the Assistant Director, the bloodied saliva landing just shy of his boots, the red puddle looking grotesque against the clear white marble.
Surprisingly, another strike didn’t come. The man didn’t even flinch, his facial expression remaining impassive, maybe a little curious even, like he was watching a fly struggle in a spider’s web. He stood suddenly, closing the short distance that was between them in one long stride.
He bent over, staring into Izuku’s eyes for a moment, contemplating something, before his thin hand shot out and grabbed his chin roughly. He struggled against it for a moment, but between the restraints and the hands on his shoulders still, it was no use.
“You’re a man of science,” Kuragari hummed thoughtfully, looking down at him, “Have you ever heard of the Flea in the Jar experiment?”
Izuku shook his head as much as the hand on his chin would allow.
“Would you like to hear about it?” a mocking tone, cold eyes, unblinking. The hand squeezed harder when Izuku didn’t respond after a moment. Again, he shook his head yes, eyes watering at the added pressure on his jaw with each bob of his head, although he had a feeling Kuragari would explain regardless of what his answer had been.
“You see, some scientists left a flea inside of a jar for three days, undisturbed,” he released his grip, beginning to circle Izuku, his shadow lengthening dramatically against tiles, eclipsing the blood-moon of his saliva, “but when they opened the jar after the three days, the flea wouldn’t jump out. In fact, it wouldn’t jump any higher than the level that had been set by the lid,” He paused in front of Izuku, “Isn’t that marvelous? Every animal instinct screaming for freedom silenced by simple conditioning. The flea’s behavior was set for the rest of its miserable little life.”
The room was deathly quiet for a moment, nothing but the near-silent sizzling of the cigarette could be heard. Kuragari turned away, stepping around the spit on the floor to go back to his desk chair. He waived a hand as went, a clear sign of dismissal, “Take this insect to solitary. Leave him there till I say.”
Izuku opened his mouth to protest, but before his voice could even escape, something hard and heavy collided with the base of his skull. The pain was only registered for a moment before he fell backward through space once more, floating into another void of unconsciousness.
~ End of Part I ~